Tess had to accept that this was true. She ran the possibilities around her head. She didn’t want to believe that Helen was guilty. Not just for Nina’s sake, but for her own. She didn’t want to admit that someone she liked had been to blame for Leo Galvin’s death. When they were children, Nina’s mother had made the best hot chocolate. In the summer, she’d always given them orange juice from a carton. At home, Tess had only ever had juice from a tin and even that had been considered a treat. She remembered how Helen had allowed them to wear her earrings and spray her perfume. To this day, all it took was one whiff of Rive Gauche and Tess was transported back to Nina’s house. True, Helen had acquiesced with her husband in banishing Tess from their house, but Emmet was a bully. She’d probably been scared of him. She couldn’t be a killer. She didn’t look like one. She didn’t feel like one. Then again, how many people did? That had been the genius of Noel O’Grady: he’d been such a plausible bad guy. Even though Helen must have gone missing from the party, nobody had noticed. It was like that old line: get a reputation as an early riser and you can sleep until midday. Nina’s mother had been beyond reproach.

‘Just say it is true,’ she said to Conor. ‘Just say she did hit Father Galvin or push him or whatever. She can’t have meant to kill him. From what Hannah told you, they were in love.’

‘So?’ he replied.

‘So why should what you’ve told us go any further than this room? It’s not as though there’s anything official about your investigation. Apart from the Galvins, no one knows. We can leave here tonight and never talk about it again.’

‘Do you genuinely believe that?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do. You probably aren’t aware of this, but Nina and Julian have split up. Her marriage is over. Her life is hard enough. For her sake, for everyone’s sake, let this Father Galvin obsession go.’

Tess had long ago concluded that life was rarely lived in absolutes. There were times for blurred edges, for walking away from trouble, for the grey in-between. This was one of those times.

Conor examined his hands.

Tom swayed to and fro.

Noise – a car horn, the rumble of a motorbike, a squeal of laughter – filtered in from outside.